


I Want You (I Don't Know if I Need You)

by ERR404gaem



Series: Chances [1]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: F/F, PWP, RocketShield, Shameless Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-07
Updated: 2019-04-07
Packaged: 2020-01-06 01:30:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18378176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ERR404gaem/pseuds/ERR404gaem
Summary: In which the post-training shower is more exciting than the simulation. Title inspired by the Savage Garden song of the same name. Rated for content.





	I Want You (I Don't Know if I Need You)

**Author's Note:**

> Written for KaijuHash (RegentShaw on deviantART, Hashpaw on Tumblr). RocketShield is one of her favorite ships, so I wrote her a thing a while back.

"We need to work on your situational awareness." Reinhardt laughed. "That is why we do these simulations with blanks."

"It still hurts," Brigitte groaned, rolling her right shoulder. "It doesn't matter if we use blank rounds and party bombs, they're still going to hurt if they hit you."  _ Especially those party bombs that your girlfriend shoots. _

Uncle Reinhardt smiled down at her, his expression a mix of experience and affection. "Learn from today, my little crusader. And rest. That shoulder will hurt tomorrow."

Another groan, and she flopped on the couch in the recreation room. "Thanks for putting it back. Next time, I won't let you charge me."

Her "uncle" laughed heartily as he headed off to her workshop to remove his armor. Rolling her eyes with a huge intake of air, Brigitte relaxed into the cushions. She had yet to remove her own armor, but the couch felt wonderful regardless.

"Get up offa that couch, young lady," Jesse barked. Brigitte jumped as if scalded. "Ma will have yer hide if you're still there when she gets up here. Ain't no one allowed to sweat on her couch."

"Jesse..." she whined, turning pleading eyes to the man who was like a brother to her. As always, Hanzo was at his side, with Genji and Angela behind them.

Jesse shook his head. "Huh-uh. Them puppy eyes ain't gonna work this time. Go ditch yer duds an' shower. Couch'll still be here when y'ain't stinkin'." He grinned good-naturedly, shooing her off with a wave of his hand.

Brigitte groaned. "Fine..." she got up, but rather than make a bee-line for the dorms like everyone else, she headed to her workshop. She had a shower there. And Uncle Reinhardt didn't know about it. No one knew about it, except Winston and Jesse (they had helped with the installation).

_ Speak of the devil. _ Uncle Reinhardt, clad in what she could only describe as *gym clothes*, was walking in her direction, likely off to his room to shower. He waved, but did not stop. His tank-style undershirt was soaked; he wanted out of those clothes.

Why not shower in the locker rooms? Well, they were fairly disgusting. When your base of operations is an abandoned regional outpost that has only had Winston as a resident, things tend to be neglected. Like the scummy, repeatedly-flooded, mildewed locker rooms. While it would have been practical to shower in the locker room, Brigitte took one look, wrinkled her nose, and walked away.

Uncle Reinhardt's footsteps faded down the hall, only to be replaced by a new set. This new set was lighter than the resident knight’s; Uncle Reinhardt, never one for subtlety, had loud, heavy footsteps. These footsteps were lighter, more authoritative.

_ Fareeha. _

Brigitte turned around and caught her girlfriend in a hug. It was awkward with their armor still on, but she still managed to kiss her partner without much trouble. All the same, she quickly backed away. “Go shower,” she teased, “you stink.”

Without missing a beat, Fareeha smirked imperiously. “I do now that you hugged me.”

Her mouth opened to reply, then snapped shut. With her lower lip protruding slightly in a pout, she glared down the hall.

Fareeha kissed her cheek, then nibbled her ear.  _ That _ got Brigitte’s attention. They’d been fooling around, but hadn’t really made it past second base. They had also been too shy so far to be public with displays of affection. So this was definitely new, and  _ definitely _ bold for both of them.

Fareeha continued her assault on Brigitte’s ear until something made noise. They broke apart, red-faced and nervous, then took off down the hall to the new workshop.

The door  _ whooshed _ shut, the “DANGER: HOT METAL” marquee activated, and both women heaved huge sighs of relief.

That relief didn’t last very long. Brigitte swallowed, butterflies and anticipation eating at her insides. They needed to get their armor off. They needed to shower. Did Fareeha have a change of clothes?  _ Wait, yes she does. _

_ God, how do I do this? _

Thankfully, Fareeha had a better command of her faculties than she did.  _ Of course she does. She’s a trained soldier. She’s had to share locker rooms and ignore others while she… _

“I hope you have access to a shower.”   


Snapped from her rambling thoughts, Brigitte nodded. “Yeah, that door there. It’s got a bunk, a shower, and laundry facilities.”

“Excellent.” Fareeha looked at her. “Come on.”

Everything came to a screeching halt and still managed to slam into the cliffside like a runaway train.  _ Wait. What? Did she really just...? _

A gentle tug on her left arm pulled her from the nuclear ash that resulted from the train exploding. Fareeha looked nervous, but hopeful.  Dazed from the impact of realization, giddy to the point of feeling completely intoxicated, she followed. They quietly removed their suits, leaving them in form-hugging body suits designed to protect their skin from pinches and wick away sweat. Those were discarded into the hamper near the bathroom door.

Her mouth went dry. “Fit” and “toned” were understatements and, as far as she was concerned, not to be used regarding Fareeha. Battle scars stood out, glaringly pale against the rich, brown skin. She looked like a sports athlete, like a tennis or basketball player. Her lean build and tattoos came together perfectly, a masterpiece of her mixed heritage.   


“See something you like, Brigitte?”

_ Caught. _

“Maybe.” Fareeha’s voice had been smug. She had to be evasive and vague.

That’s when she noticed Fareeha had been observing her, too. “Could ask you the same thing.”

The minimal distance between them vanished. The next thing she knew, she was pinned against the wall, a hot, wet mouth attached to her neck with just the barest hint of teeth biting at her skin. She couldn’t help it. She moaned. Loudly. Partly from surprise, mostly from an urgent sense she couldn’t name.

Fareeha backed away, soothing her skin with heated kisses. “Do you want to?”   
  
She nodded, unable to speak. She wanted more.  Funny how one little bite could make her brain so fuzzy. It, like Fareeha’s urging just moments ago, wiped her mind completely blank. Autopilot took over as she removed her bra and underwear, followed Fareeha into the shower.

Warm water trailed down their skin, waking her from her daze. She searched her partner’s face, got a firm nod and assuring smile.

_ Is this okay? _

_ Yes. _

_ How’s that? _

_ Perfect… _

It wasn’t exactly like in the movies, but it was close enough and that was perfectly fine. Showers were great playgrounds to get to know a partner’s naked body while soaping them up.

Fareeha turned the tables as soon as Brigitte finished rinsing her off. She was quick and thorough with the soap, equally so when it came to rinsing. For a moment, Brigitte was disappointed. That is, until Fareeha pinned her against the shower wall, one leg wedged between her thighs, her right hand cupping the redhead very intimately.

Under the spray, Fareeha’s mouth resumed its assault. Brigitte held very still as kisses and bites were trailed down from her neck to her chest, only to fall apart when that mouth closed around one of her nipples. Movement between her legs, a gentle, yet firm rubbing against her, amplified what Fareeha was doing with her tongue. A soft cry escaped her, followed by soft gasps and low moans.  It had been so long...too long...last time had been with some girl from school. That hadn’t been anything special, but this?

“Fuck!” She bucked her hips against Fareeha’s hand, clinging to her partner for dear life.

Switching to the other breast, Fareeha snickered.

A finger teased expertly at her entrance, then slid inside. Of their own accord, her hips bucked again, her legs spreading to give better access. A second finger slipped in to join the first. The rubbing against her clit continued.

Fareeha left her chest to pant eagerly next to her ear. “You feel so amazing,” she moaned, voice husky with lust.

Brigitte whimpered; she was close, so close. “Don’t stop, please…”

Her girlfriend sucked gently at her earlobe as she slowed down, drawing forth another keening moan. “Patience,” she chided gently.

The water shut off, a towel massaged her skin dry. Another rubbed her hair dry. Nothing alleviated the tight ache between her legs. Movement made it worse.

Somehow a bed appeared under her back, and Fareeha between her legs.  A loud, desperate, ecstatic cry tore from her throat. The very same hot, wet mouth that marked her neck earlier was now assaulting her clit, sucking and teasing. Fingers stroked inside her, urging, demanding more.  This time, she came hard. It was too much, too fast. Her body shook from the intensity, her cries became strangled screams and sobs. Her girlfriend was relentless. Brigitte came again, and again before, hyper-sensitive, she was able to get Fareeha to stop, at least for a moment.

Soft lips gently brought her back from the edge of oblivion, the musky smell and taste of  _ her _ on Fareeha’s lips arousing her all over again. “You’re too good,” she groaned, rolling onto her side to nuzzle her partner’s collarbone.

Fareeha chuckled. “I had a lot of practice as a teen.”

“Lemme catch my breath, then I’ll show you how it’s done.” Brigitte panted.

Her girlfriend kissed her forehead. “I look forward to it.”


End file.
